


Eye of the beholder

by raynewton



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynewton/pseuds/raynewton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terran and Vulcan meet for the first time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the beholder

**Author's Note:**

> At one time there was comment about how Kirk was always depicted as the beautiful golden god. I wondered how Terran and Vulcan would really react the their first sight of each other

Eye of the Beholder

by Ray Newton

Imagine, if you will, a universe in which a vast cloud of magnetic dust lies between Earth and Vulcan. Navigation through the cloud is impossible and boundaries are so immense that even at warp speed no ship known to either culture can circumnavigate it.

Thus no Terran has even seen a Vulcan, and no Vulcan has laid eyes on a Terran - until now...

***

The marketplace was hot, bustling, alive with color and sound. As always, Spock was entranced by its vitality; from childhood he had loved to wander among the stalls, calling greetings to the traders he had known all his life. Here, although his rank was recognized and honored, it was a spontaneous mark of respect rather than a formal observance of custom.

"Hai, Spock! No greeting for me today?" Fat, beaming T'Kira hailed him from her stall. "Too old for a treat, are you?"

"Never!" Spock called back, expertly fielding the Kaferian apple she tossed to him, biting into it with sharp white teeth. "Mmmm - delicious!" "The first of the new crop, and as always I have selected only the best for you. My son is already on his way to deliver them to your house."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Spock promised, moving away. "I've longed to hear your tales again, T'Kira."

A few hundred yards further on, he paused, attracted by the old books piled invitingly on a stall. Old S'Torr, busy with a customer, nodded a greeting and an invitation to browse.

Spock chose two volumes and set them aside, knowing they would be delivered; about to turn away, he paused, lifted a very battered volume and opened it, his lips curving in amusement.

THE TEACHINGS OF SURAK. How many years ago was it that his tutor had touched disdainfully on the rantings of the half-mad philosopher? Oh, the man had made his converts - there was still a tiny sect that adhered to his teachings - but, by the Blades of the S'Kanderai, how had the man ever imagined that a passionate, aggressive race such as Vulcans would ever renounce emotion? The very idea was absurd!

There had been a suggestion at the time that the man should be killed, Spock remembered, but Solar, then War-Leader of the S'Kanderai, had spoken against it. Why make the man a martyr? he had argued. Allow him to preach his lunacy; ridicule was a much more effective weapon than persecution where ideas were concerned. Events had proven his wisdom; and Surak had died forgotten and alone but for his small band of followers. Even today, there was no persecution of the Logical Ones. It simply wasn't necessary.

With a snort of contempt, Spock dropped the book and turned away, debating where to go next. The Slavers' section of the market was nearby; he supposed he really ought to do something about purchasing a new lorath for his next mission, since V'Lar had earned his freedom. Still, there was plenty of time.

He hesitated, uncertain, until the sound of laughter from one of the dealers' enclosures decided him. Curious, he moved forward to investigate.

"Spock!" His friend, Savil, waved an enthusiastic greeting, punctuated by a fresh burst of laughter. "You really must come and see what Drango has found. We're all trying to decide what best to do with it."

"Let me see, then." Spock shouldered his way through the group, exchanging greetings as he went. "It must be something unusual to make you all - What in the name of the gods is that?"

"That's what we were trying to guess," Savil spluttered. "Drango was just about to tell us where he got it, so you're in time."

"Wait a moment - I want a good look first." Spock nodded to the Orion trader, stifling an urge to laugh aloud as he turned his attention to the slave.

He - Spock assumed the creature was male - could not in honesty be described as dwarfish, but he almost seemed so next to the tall Vulcans who surrounded him. In contrast to their slender grace, he was stocky of build, his hands and feet clumsy, his muscles oddly defined under the skin. And that skin! It was the unpleasant white of the flesh of a desert carrion-worm; and even worse, it appeared to be covered by a film of moisture. Spock shuddered at the thought of touching him, of getting that slimy exudation on his own skin.

Then he looked at the face. Well, the best that could be said of it was that it possessed the correct number of features, and in the right places. The ears were small and stunted, oddly deformed, and the short hair was the color of withered grass - probably with the same harsh dryness, too. And the eyes! Large enough to be pleasing, they were marred by their color, which resembled long-stagnant water in a desert pool. The mouth... that was beautifully shaped, Spock conceded, but the pink tint of the lips was repulsive.

"Drango! Give us your story!" Spock ordered imperiously, allowing his amusement to show. "Where did you pick up a creature like this? And why? What is he, anyway?"

"He's a Terran," Drango replied gloomily. 

"A Terran? I've never heard of them."

"No, and you won't hear of any more if I have anything to do with it." The slaver was clearly disgruntled. "I thought he might have a certain curiosity value, but it looks as though I'm stuck with him, unless I can find a collector who's so keen on exotics he doesn't mind how repulsive he is."

"But where did you find him?"

"Well, it was this way." Drango edged closer. "I was returning to Vulcan, badly behind schedule, and I decided to take a short-cut along the edge of the Great Cloud. Well, we were almost halfway past when my helmsman reported a metal trace on the sensors. It was too small to be a ship, so we investigated, and found it to be a life-support capsule, of alien design. Inside it was... this.

"I didn't want to risk reviving a creature I knew nothing about, so I brought him back with me and turned him over to the Academy - they're the best ones to deal with a new alien race, I thought. The scientists brought him round, then tested and questioned him.

"Seems his world lies behind the Great Cloud - don't ask me how he got through it. Anyway, as you know, there's no hope of breaking through, so we can't make any contact with his people.

"When they'd finished with him, the scientists gave him back to me. They've learned all he can tell them, and he's of no further use to them. They said I might as well sell him to cover my expenses, but how am I going to do that? He's useless!"

"He must be good for something," Savil suggested.

Drango snorted. "Just tell me what." He began to count off on his fingers. "One: he has the strength of a child, so he's useless as a laborer. Two: he doesn't speak our language, and even if I had him taught it, he knows nothing of our way of life, so I can't sell him as a general servant - he'd take far too long to train. Three: can you imagine that in a brothel? The patrons would demand their money back at the first sight of him. Four: he's not... "

Spock allowed the rest of the complaint to flow over his head as he found himself watching the slave. The Terran was looking around him interestedly; curiously enough there was no trace of fear in his eyes, and he did not seem to find the Vulcans as bizarre as they found him. Suddenly, however, the Terran stiffened and sprang forward, taking Drango and his audience by surprise. It wasn't an escape attempt, though, for the alien leaped on a young woman who was passing, caught her around the waist and pulled her aside - so quickly that both stumbled and fell. 

There was a terrible silence for an instant. Spock knew that every Vulcan there shared his thoughts. The alien was in need; Drango had not seen it, and had brought the creature unchained into the marketplace, with the inevitable result. Now, there would be a burning...

Then, even as the cry of outrage rose, two things happened. The alien rose to his feet, extending his hand to pull the woman up with him; and a heavily-laden cart, which had been ignored as it lumbered through the crowded alley, shed its load just where the woman had been standing. Had it not been for the alien's intervention, she would have been crushed.

Not all of the crowd had seen the truth of things; an ugly snarling rose, and the chant of: "Burn him! Burn him!" grew louder.

The slave stood his ground, bewilderment written on his face as he realized that he was being threatened; clearly, he had not the remotest idea why.

A young man pushed his way to the woman's side, his arm encircling her shoulders. "Are you harmed, my wife? I heard the crash... "

"I am safe, husband." She turned her gaze toward her rescuer. "But the slave... he touched me!"

"What?" The man whirled on the Terran, drawing the knife from his belt. "I demand his life - it is my right!"

Spock was watching the drama, idly noting for the first time that the woman was heavily pregnant. The encounter had ceased to be amusing, and he was about to leave when, for the first time, his eyes met the alien's, and he found that he could not look away. It was as though the slave spoke directly to him, asking what he had done wrong; and before he knew what he was doing, Spock pushed his way forward to confront the woman's angry husband.

"Wait!" he commanded. "You know me?" 

"Yes, Lord Spock."

"You are...?" 

"S'Tern, my lord."

"The slave laid hands on your wife. You have the right to demand his death; none here will dispute that. But consider, S'Tern. The alien did not know what he was doing wrong. He risked injury to save your wife and child. Look at him - he does not speak our language. He knows that you wish to kill him, but not why. Would you punish a child for an action it did not know was wrong?" 

"It is true that my wife and unborn child live," the man said grudging ly. "But what of my honor? Is a slave to touch a free-born woman?" He turned to the audience. "What think you, my lords?"

"I think Spock's right," Savil said easily. "It was a brave act, for a slave. I think you should pardon him, S'Tern. Besides..." the young Vulcan laughed contemptuously, "no one could dream that any wrong could come of this. Your wife is a lovely woman, and the slave... Well, look at him!"

S'Tern eyed the Terran dubiously for a moment, then laughed as he sheathed his knife. "You are right, my lord. The slave is indeed hideous. Let him live." With that, he bowed to Spock, then led his wife away.

The excitement over, the audience gradually drifted away until only Spock and Savil were left.

Drango mopped his brow. "Well, thanks to you, my lord, I still have a slave to sell. Though the gods know who on Vulcan would want such a creature. Still... "

"How much are you asking for him?" Spock inquired.

"Ten vlas, my lord. Enough to cover my expenses and give me a small profit." Drango shrugged. "No use to ask more - I won't get it."

"Well, he's cheap enough." An idea was stirring in Spock's brain. He'd always had the reputation of being slightly eccentric, and secretly enjoyed it. This would be another whim to indulge. "I'll take him," he said impulsively. "Have him sent to my house." 

"Yes, my lord." Drango bowed his thanks.

***

It was early evening when Spock returned home. He ate a hasty meal in his rooms, then called for the new slave to be brought to him. The Terran arrived escorted by the Master of the Household, and Spock's eyebrows rose at the sight of him. He had been washed, and looked slightly more presentable than he had in the marketplace, but instead of being decently clothed, his oddly-proportioned body had been draped in what looked like an old sheet.

"Hlas, what is the meaning of this?" Spock found himself torn between amusement at the ridiculous figure, and outrage that he had been presented with a slave in such a state.

"I ask your pardon, lord." The elderly man looked troubled. "I had the slave cleaned up, as is the custom, but there was a problem in finding suitable clothing. His skin is very delicate; the tunics normally provided for the Household irritated him almost beyond endurance. It was no pretense, lord; he made no complaint. But I myself saw how the fibers did scratch him, even breaking the skin in some places."

"Uncomfortable indeed," Spock commented.

"So I thought, and it seemed unreasonable to expect the creature to suffer such discomfort. My next thought was to clothe him in the silks of a pleasure slave as a temporary measure. I did so, lord, and he could wear the garments, but the effect was... ludicrous."

"I can imagine." Spock glanced at the Terran, his lips curving as he I visualized that stocky, pallid body draped in the clinging silks of a lorath. "Well, you may go, Hlas. Leave him with me; I will see if I can I find suitable attire for him."

"Yes, lord." The Master withdrew, bowing respectfully as he went.

Spock turned his attention to his new acquisition. The Terran was watching him, the yellow eyes wary. He concealed his fear well, the Vulcan conceded.

"What am I going to do with you?" Spock asked, already beginning to regret the quixotic impulse that had led him to purchase this unsuitable and useless slave.

The head tilted inquiringly. The creature realized he was being directly addressed, but clearly did not understand the words. He shrugged, and said something in his own harsh language.

"Well, since you have been interrogated at the Academy, presumably you are responsive to telepathic stimulation. At least it will be possible for us to communicate."

Spock stepped forward, his hand raised for the meld. The Terran flinched, but stood quietly. He clearly recognized the purpose of the gesture, did not like it, but understood the necessity.

Carefully, Spock shielded his mind from the unfamiliar and possibly dangerous thought-waves of the Terran and plunged in, altering the necessary portion of the brain as he had been taught to do - a useful ability for one who must so often deal with non-Vulcans. He lingered for no longer than was absolutely necessary, then drew back with a sigh of relief, wiping his fingers on his tunic to remove the clammy moisture that oozed from the alien's skin.

"You can understand me now?" he asked.

"Yes." The Terran shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. "That's some trick you people have. It was used on me when I was questioned, but someone always remained in contact with me. As soon as I was released, I couldn't understand anymore."

"This change is permanent," Spock assured him. "You will find that you can both speak and understand Vulcan easily."

"That simplifies matters," the Terran agreed. "Well... what happens now?"

"First, I must find you something you can wear." Spock thought for a moment, then turned to search in a chest in the far corner of the room. "See if these will fit." Noting the Terran's hesitancy, he smiled briefly. "There is a bedroom through there where you may change."

In a very short time, the man returned, dressed now, but his feet were bare. The clothes were some that Spock himself had worn when younger, and though a little tight, the tunic and trousers at least covered the Terran adequately, and did not look too ridiculous. 

"The fabric is comfortable?" Spock inquired.

"Yes, thanks. The sandals are too small, though."

"I will have some made to fit you, and clothes, too. These will serve for the present. Now, what is your name?"

"James Kirk."

"My name is Spock. That is what you will call me when we are alone. In company, you will address me as 'My Lord'. You have much to learn of the customs and ways of your new world. But first, have you eaten?"

"Not today. I was... too nervous, I guess."

Spock nodded, and pressed a bell. One of the servants of the Household appeared, and he gave orders for a meal to be served.

"We will talk as we eat," he said, motioning Kirk to join him on the floor cushions. "While we wait, tell me how you came to Vulcan."

"My ship was damaged close to the Cloud Barrier - you know of it?" At Spock's nod, he continued. "We abandoned ship, and I can only think that my life support capsule was somehow swept through the cloud. I really don't know much about it. It was - "

"Ah, here is the food. We will continue later."

Spock served them both and began to eat, pausing as he caught sight of the Terran's face. Kirk was gazing at his plate with a very wary expres-sion.

"Is something wrong? Are you unwell?" He hoped his new acquisition was not going to prove sickly in addition to his other problems.

"No, I'm fine. It's just... the meat...." Kirk's voice was faint. "It looks... bad."

"Bad? Nonsense!" Spock swallowed the mouthful he'd taken. "It is excellent thrass, and well cooked."

"Oh, but..." Kirk paused for a moment. "I think I understand. Your people have green blood, don't they? And so do the animals." 

"Of course."

"Then that's what's wrong." The Terran appeared relieved. "On Earth, blood is red. To me, this meat looks as though it's decaying. I'm sorry... I simply can't eat it."

Spock looked at him with some concern. "Can you at least eat the vegetables and fruit?"

"Oh, yes, they're okay; I've had them before. It's just that I haven't been given meat until now."

"It is possible to maintain health on a vegetarian diet; the followers of Surak will not touch meat. I will inquire of a Healer for advice on a balanced diet for you; but for tonight, eat what you can and leave the rest."

With an air of relief, Kirk resumed his meal. He answered Spock's questions without reservation, and listened carefully as the customs of the Household were explained to him.

As had been only too obvious, he had been sold into slavery. It was not a prospect he relished, but for the moment he was too ignorant of this world and its ways to do anything other than pause, regain his physical and mental equilibrium, and learn what he could before he began to consider what he should do next.

Spock explained that he would remain a slave for ten years, after which he would be automatically freed, unless he had broken the laws of Vulcan and had his term of slavery increased as a punishment. Diligent service could earn him his freedom within the ten years if his master chose, and when he was freed, employment would be found for him.

He was told of the laws that governed both slaves and masters. He could be beaten for disobedience or insolence, but the scale of punishment was clearly laid down, and he could not be killed unless a death verdict had been given by the Tribune of Slaves - to whom he had the right of appeal against harsh treatment - or unless he laid hands on a Vulcan woman, in which case her family had the right to demand his death.

He also had the right to food, clothing and medical care at his master's expense during his period of slavery. He could not marry without his master's permission, but once that had been granted, mates could not be parted, nor could they be separated from their children. However, as an Outworlder, and the only member of his race ever seen on Vulcan, it was unlikely that any woman would accept him; and the Tribune of Slaves would defend any female slave being forced to do so.

He could be sold, given away or bequeathed, but a change of owner would not lengthen his period of servitude, which was counted from the day he was first sold.

Kirk's eyes flashed when Spock finished speaking. "We haven't had slavery on Earth for hundreds of years," he said abruptly. "I don't think you'll find me very cooperative."

Spock shrugged. "As to that, we do not keep slaves; freedmen serve the Household here, and on our estate. They can be employed and supervised by the Overseer o€ the Household, whereas slaves require the supervision of their master. My father is much occupied with his own affairs, and has no time and less interest in domestic matters; and I am so often absent from Vulcan that I cannot undertake the duties of an owner - apart, of course, from my lorath."

The term did not translate, but Kirk's momentary curiosity as to its meaning was lost in his greater concern for his own future. "What are you planning on doing with me, then?" he asked.

The Vulcan hesitated. He had not given the matter a great deal of thought. "I am not sure what I can do with you," he said at last. "I do not doubt your courage and intelligence. That you were part of your planet's space fleet is evidence enough of both. Yet you will admit, I think, that here on Vulcan you need protection, shelter and employment; and you are intelligent enough to be able to accept them without shame."

Kirk nodded. "I'd be a fool to turn down whatever help I can get," he admitted.

"Then can you also accept that I will regard you and treat you as a free man, although you must remain nominally as a slave? It will be safer for you while you are still so much a stranger. As my slave, you have my protection; should anything happen to you, should you be lost or stolen, for example, I have the right to demand that you be sought and returned to me. As a freedman, it would be assumed that your disappearance was by your own choice, and I would have no right to question it."

"You think it's likely that anything like that could happen to me?" Kirk asked. "It is... possible. You appear very strange to us, and there are those whose pleasure it is to collect... exotics. Once you fell into the hands of such a one, you would have no protection at all."

"I see." Kirk looked up thoughtfully. "What do you suggest then?" 

"I will be on Vulcan for another half-year. During that time, I will arrange for you to be taught to read and write our tongue, and to learn our ways. We will also try to find out what you can do. Before I leave, I will set you free, and arrange a way for you to earn your living as a freedman. As such, you will still be able to call upon my father for assistance during my absences."

"Do you spend much time away from Vulcan?" Kirk asked idly, while he considered what he'd been told.

"Indeed, yes. I, too, am a serving Starfleet officer. I captain one of our search and exploration vessels." He looked at Kirk consideringly. "It may even be possible for you to serve as a crewman," he added thought-fully. "It would mean a great deal of work; you would have to master our language thoroughly, and to study... but having served in your own fleet, you should have little difficulty in reaching the required standard. And lest you should be concerned, a freedman is not restricted in our society - you will have the right to whatever promotion you can earn."

"And it'll give me something to work for," Kirk grinned, "something really useful and challenging I can do instead of depending on your goodwill. Oh, I'm grateful, but I need to be independent. I can even put up with being technically a slave for six months... You did mean it?" he added anxiously. "You will be able to treat me as a free man?" 

"I will not lie to you, James Kirk. I will keep my promise and have you taught all that you must learn. But custom must be observed - in front of my friends and family, you must remember that you are a bondsman. You will be more of a companion than a servant, however. There is much t that I wish to learn from you - about your world, and your ships. Before I leave, I will arrange for you to be legally freed, and to be employed in the Household, where you will be subject both to its protection and its discipline, as any freedman is. And I will also arrange for you to be tutored in readiness for Starfleet's entrance examinations. How does that seem to you?"

"Not what I'd like, but a lot better than I expected this morning," Kirk grinned. "I know I can't go home, so I'd better get used to this world as quickly as I can. It's a pity about the Cloud - your people and mine have a lot to offer each other; but unless there's some miraculous break-through in navigation techniques, there can be no contact. It's a pity - Vulcan as a member of the Federation would be a tremendous asset."

"There is something I would very much like to know," Spock said curiously. "As you said, you are the first Terran my people have ever seen, and no Earthman can ever have seen a Vulcan. To us, your appearance is... bizarre. We must be as strange to you, and you are one among many, yet you seem to accept us very easily."

"But surely you must have encountered non-Vulcan races before me?" Kirk stated in the form of a question.

"Of course. Drango is an Orion, and there are the Romulans. It is true that there are differences in skin color, but we all look very much alike. To give a minor example, we all have normally-shaped ears."

"The points?" Kirk grinned, fingering his own rounded ears. "Are those the only two intelligent races you've encountered?"

"So far, yes. Evidence suggests that this sector of the galaxy is sparsely populated. As we acquire the ability to reach further out, we hope to encounter more such races."

"I think that's the answer," Kirk said. "There are quite a few races in the Federation, and while some of them - the Halkans, for example - look almost like Terrans, some are very different. For instance... Look, have you got some paper? I'm not a very good artist, but I can give you some idea."

Spock watched with fascination as Kirk sketched some rough drawings. "Andorians are blue-skinned," he said, pencilling in a pair of antennae, "but we got used to them very quickly, and they to us, though they thought our first-contact party had suffered some terrible accident to lose their antennae. There was a bit of trouble about the Tellarites at first, though."

"Indeed?" Spock gazed with interest as the outline of a head appeared, I much stronger and more powerful than the delicate-looking Andorians.

"Yes. You see, they reminded some people of... well... a Terran food-animal. You can imagine the jokes - and the diplomatic hassles that caused."

Spock tried to imagine encountering a race of intelligent thrass, and nodded. "I can understand that."

"The Klingons are most like us physically," Kirk continued, "but they're very aggressive - I'm sure they only keep the treaty because it I suits them. The Gorns are also like an Earth species, but not one that's eaten much, so that was one problem less. It took us ages to realize that the Hortas were a lifeform at all, let alone intelligent." 

"No wonder the Vulcans seemed normal to you," Spock murmured, studying the drawings with interest.

"Well, actually...." Kirk paused, and to the Vulcan's astonishment, his face and neck turned an ugly shade of red.

"Are you ill?" Spock asked quickly. "Perhaps a Healer... " 

"It's okay." The tide of color receded. "That's... uh... an automatic reaction when Humans are embarrassed."

Spock thought back over the conversation. "May I know what produced the emotion?" he asked at last.

"What you said about seeming normal. The thing is, I don't want to offend you."

"If there is no intent to offend, offense will not be taken," Spock said serenely. "As I said, we have much to learn of each other. Clearly, Vulcans do remind you of something. I should be interested to know what."

"Well, there's a Terran myth or legend that says if a person has led an evil life, after death his spirit is sent to a place called Hell for punishment. The Devil, or Satan - the spirit who presides over Hell - is often depicted as looking a bit like Vulcans do... although you don't have horns and a tail," Kirk added.

Spock's eyebrows rose. "It does not disconcert you to encounter the embodiment of your 'devil'?" he asked.

"Well, it _is_ only a legend, and a very old one at that," Kirk grinned. "I think... By the way, what do I call you?"

"By custom, you should call me 'Master', but I think that would not be to your taste, or to mine. It would be acceptable for you to use my rank in public, and call me 'Captain'. In private, and to my friends, my name is Spock."

"My friends call me Jim," Kirk offered. "My full name, James, isn't often used. Formally, I'd be Kirk."

Spock nodded. "You were about to say?"

"Oh, only that since I can't go home, I think I'm going to enjoy all there is to learn," Kirk said.

"I think - I hope - that we both will," Spock answered quietly.

***

Spock very quickly found that his impulsive purchase of the Terran had landed him with some unexpected problems. Kirk was ignorant of the simplest, most basic customs of Vulcan society; he could not in justice be blamed for that ignorance, and set himself to remedy it with dogged determination. But, nonetheless, Spock found himself in the role of a teacher with one maddeningly ignorant but demanding pupil. Kirk was no fool. He only had to be told something once, and thereafter he never forgot or made a mistake. If he wasn't sure, he asked - respectfully - but determined to be answered.

He proved to be an entertaining companion, for in addition to asking questions, he constantly passed comments, drawing comparisons between Earth and Vulcan so that Spock, in addition to learning of the human's world, began to see his own almost through alien eyes. Indeed, Spock soon began to prefer Kirk's company to that of his boyhood friends; at least it was possible to hold a sustained, intelligent conversation with the young Terran, and their careers in their respective space services gave them much in common.

Sadly, despite his active mind and lively intelligence, it could not be denied that Kirk's physical appearance was... unfortunate. He drew stares, whispers, even outright laughter, wherever he went. Although he tried valiantly to hide his reaction, Spock eventually noticed how badly Kirk was hurt by the ridicule, and was surprised at how much it angered him - although he never permitted cruelty in the Household, he had never before noticed or cared whether a slave was unhappy or not.

The tutors Spock arranged reported that Kirk was a diligent student. He worked hard at mastering the language - the psychic translator, although a useful device, was not really practical as a lifelong crutch. Gradually, the Household became accustomed to him as he came and went; certainly he did not look quite so odd in the clothes Spock had had made for him, the tunic and trousers of a free man, but more plainly styled than was the fashion, and without the usual insignia of rank, his only ornament being the bracelet that recorded the Household where he served, and the date when he could expect his freedom.

It was not an unpleasant life, Kirk thought, especially when he considered what the alternative might have been. Spock kept his word, treating him in private with the courtesy due to an equal and valued companion; indeed, the pretense of slavery became something of a joke between them.

Apart from his studies, Kirk spent much of his time with Spock. They rode and walked together, talking constantly; they played chess, exercised, explored and discussed - endless discussions that often lasted into the small hours only to be resumed over a belated breakfast. Kirk did not eat with the other servants, as was customary, but took his meals with Spock; Kirk would bring the tray from the kitchen, but they ate sitting together, one serving the food while the other poured the wine.

Sometimes Spock dined out with friends, and then Kirk was expected to eat in the kitchen with the servants. Although they were free-born or freedmen, they made no attempt to bully or ill-treat the odd little alien. To be sure, his appearance was the source of much interest and comment at first, but he could not in honesty take offense at it, knowing how unusual he must seem to them. But as the members of the Household became accustomed to his looks, less and less attention was paid to him, until he realized that he had ceased to be an object of curiosity. Indeed, he was beginning to form tentative friendships with some of the higher-ranking staff - as Spock's personal attendant, it seemed that he ranked quite highly in the intricate social structure of the Household, slave though he was.

Strangely, Kirk began to find that he didn't really mind being thought of as a slave; it was Spock's attitude that was important, and the tentative, growing friendship between them was reassuring. In time, Spock told him, the novelty of his alien slave would wear off; and when Kirk's presence was taken for granted, it would no longer be necessary to continue the charade.

And then, in one dreadful night, everything changed.

***

Spock had decided to give a dinner for some of his officers. "It is known that I have recently purchased a most unusual alien, and naturally they are curious about you," he told Kirk. "This way, they will be able to satisfy that curiosity, and thereafter we will perhaps be left in peace."

"Roll up and see the weird-looking alien, huh?" Kirk said with a touch of bitterness. "Still, you're right, I suppose. The sooner they get used to the sight of me, the sooner I can start to think about making myself a life that's as near to normal as I can get."

It was Hlas who explained Kirk's duties to him, rehearsing him so that he would know what to do. Household servants would serve the food, but each guest would be accompanied by his lorath, or his personal attendant, who would pour his wine; Kirk was to perform this service for Spock. It didn't sound a very arduous duty, and Kirk was almost looking forward to it, until he realized that the burst of laughter that greeted his entrance into the dining room was directed at him.

"So this is your new pet, Spock? Are you sure it's safe out of its cage?"

"What a freak! Does it bite? Where in the name of the gods did you find it?"

"Originality is all very well, but really!" 

"But you must admit, what a novelty. Most people would choose their personal attendants for their beauty - only Spock would think of his amusement." "Did it take long to train, Spock? Why, it almost looks intelligent!"

Kirk hesitated as the mocking comments grew louder. Spock's gentleness and understanding had almost made him forget the revulsion his appearance had originally caused; now he was cruelly reminded of it. Spock beckoned him forward, but as he moved, carrying the jug of wine, one of the guests stuck out his foot, tripping him. There was nothing the Terran could do but watch in horror as the jug shot from his hand to shower its contents over his master.

Spock rose to his feet. "That was ill done," he said quietly, his voice stilling the ripple of amusement. "Explain to me, St'rev - where lies the humor in exposing a slave to undeserved punishment? It seems I have indeed been too long away from Vulcan if this is the best entertainment you can offer."

He turned, reaching down to help Kirk to his feet, sternly repressing a shudder at the touch of the cold, clammy skin. "Do not be afraid, James. I am aware that it was not your fault. My friends," he continued, turning back to the gathering, "since St'rev has made it necessary for me to change, you will excuse me for a few moments. The dancers will entertain you, James, attend me."

Spock made no further comment on the incident as he returned to his bedroom, merely instructing Kirk to lay out clean clothes while he stripped, showered and changed. Dressed again, he looked at the human.

"I will not require you again tonight," he said abruptly. "Clean up in here, then go to bed."

***

Some hours later, Kirk sat upright on his couch at the foot of Spock's bed as the door crashed open and someone blundered into the room. He heart Spock's voice, and was about to speak when he realized that his master was not alone; he could see a slim shape entwined with the Vulcan's, and a sweet, cloying scent permeated the air. Coloring hotly, Kirk lay down again, pulling the blanket over his head as he feigned sleep.

He bit his lip as the noises from the bed reached his ears despite ail his efforts to block them out. He'd never had a taste for voyeurism, and his unwilling proximity to the Vulcans was unpleasant and embarrassing. He could not help overhearing the ecstatic groans, and he frowned slightly. There was something unusual about the second voice, something...

His couch shook with the pounding of the bed, and determindly he burrowed further under the blanket, trying not to think of what was happening only a few feet away, remaining there until the need for air drove him to surface again. The room was quiet now, he noted with relief, and hoped that the Vulcans had fallen asleep. That hope proved short-lived when the unfamiliar voice came from the bed.

"I want some wine, Spock."

"As you wish. James, wake up!"

Kirk's heart sank. Spock's voice was already slurred with wine. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of pretending he had not heard, but realized it would be a mistake. He had no idea how to handle a drunken Vulcan...

He slipped out of bed, pulling on his tunic. "Yes, sir?" he said quietly.

"Light the lamp and pour us some wine. My companion and I are thirsty."

The dim flame of the fire-shrine allowed Kirk to grope his way toward the light switch. He turned it on at half setting, then crossed to the table to pour two cups of wine. As he moved, he caught sight of the bed, and froze, his jaw dropping in astonishment.

Spock was lying sprawled across the bed - Kirk hastily averted his eyes from his master's semen-streaked nudity - his companion curled at his side. The human had expected something of the sort, but what he had not expected was that the slender, graceful creature in Spock's arms was unquestionably male.

"Where is the wine?" the youth demanded in the light tone of voice Kirk had mistaken for the contralto of a woman.

Pulling himself together, Kirk carried the wine over to the bed. The youth disengaged himself from Spock, sat up, and drank thirstily.

"Ah, that's better. So this is your freakish slave, Spock. I didn't get a look at him earlier."

"And what do you think of him, Sandor?"

The other tilted his head consideringly. "He is ugly, poor creature. Still, there is something intriguing about him, to one who reads males as well as I do. He is... a challenge. Is he formed as a man?"

Sandor stretched out a languid hand, and Kirk instinctively drew back, avoiding the touch. He realized that it was a mistake as Spock, who had been more interested in the wine than in the byplay between the two men, looked up with drunken interest.

"What is this? Such modesty, James! Are you not aware that you refuse the advances of one of Vulcan's most highly prized - and priced -Pleasure Givers?"

"I... uh... on my world, men don't lie with men - not as a rule. I've never been inclined that way, and..."

Another mistake, he realized, as both pairs of eyes wandered over him with unholy curiosity.

"I have heard of such," Sandor remarked. "It is said that the followers of Surak deny themselves the pleasures of male coupling, but I never met one."

"Indeed?" Spock sat up, cross-legged. "Could you arouse such a one, Sandor?"

"A Vulcan... without doubt. This Terran of yours.... It would be a challenge to try. But then, to touch such a creature... ugh!" Sandor shuddered and sipped his wine.

"Come, you like to gamble," Spock teased. "One thousand daras if you make the attempt, five thousand if you succeed. Will that overcome your fastidiousness, Sandor?"

The younger man's eyes wandered over Kirk again, then he grinned. "Very well, I'll do it."

Kirk stared in horror. He had thought that he and Spock were friends. Only now did he realize how little he mattered, that Spock should plan to shame him for a moment's drunken amusement.

"No... Please don't do this," he begged, hoping to appeal to the compassion Spock had shown him until now.

But the Vulcan only laughed, caught his arm, and pulled him to the bed. "Do you intend to live celibate, James? Even if our custom permitted, what woman would lie with you for love or pity? The only pleasure you will know is what I choose to buy for you. Come. Cooperate. Sandor is skilled, and if he is willing to service you, you should count yourself fortunate. Many a free-born Warrior has been refused by him."

Kirk tried one last appeal. "Please, don't," he said quietly. "Don't destroy what we've managed to build."

For a moment, he saw uncertainty in the dark eyes, then it vanished as Sandor grinned.

"So, he gives the orders," the Vulcan remarked lightly.

"Not so - I will be obeyed!" Spock growled. He pulled Kirk down onto the bed and tugged off the thin tunic. "Begin, Sandor. Win your wager if you can."

Kirk had expected an immediate assault, but the whore was too experienced, too skilled to make such an elementary mistake. He trailed warm fingers over Kirk's skin, stroking lightly, studying the instinctive shudder of revulsion as the human tried to squirm away. The dark head lowered to his chest, and a wet tongue flicked across one of the small brown nipples, probing delicately at the flesh until it firmed in automatic response to the stimulation.

"Not so different after all, perhaps." Sandor tilted his head consideringly, allowing his hand to stroke down over the flat belly, circling the navel with a fingertip. "Make him open his legs, Spock. I can't get at him like this."

Spock leaned over, pinning Kirk down, while his hands parted the human's thighs. Sandor reached between them, cupping the limp genitals as he wriggled down the bed into a better position.

"Now... let me see..."

Warm breath drifted across the soft flesh as the fingers worked at him. A softly-rough tongue lapped over him, and Kirk gave a sudden gasp of fear, for at the touch, a pulse of response throbbed in his penis. _It doesn't mean anything,_ Kirk told himself desperately. _It's just been so long... and he's skilled..._

"How does he feel? What does he taste like?" Spock's voice held a note of curiosity.

A hot, rough tongue licked across his belly. "Cool, moist," the whore answered thoughtfully. "Slightly salty, yet sweet... Not unpleasant." 

"Indeed? Let me taste."

Before Kirk realized what was happening, long fingers cupped his face, and a hot mouth closed over him as a second tongue began to lick over his lips, insinuating its way between them to explore his mouth. Sandor edged lower, and the wet friction touched his penis, bringing it almost instantly to full erection as the satiny head was fretted and probed. Kirk moaned, and heard the Vulcans' laughter at his helpless response.

"Would it be safe to enter him?" He could hardly recognize Spock's voice now. "I do not wish to damage him."

"Your consideration does you credit, Spock." There was no trace of irony in Sandor's voice. "Let me test him."

The tormenting mouths left him, but Kirk stiffened as he felt the pressure of a finger at his anus; it stroked, pushed, and gradually slipped inside.

"He is very tight, Spock - a virgin, by my guess. However, if he is carefully prepared, and you go slowly, it should be possible to penetrate his body without lasting damage."

"Prepare him for me, then," Spock said in that strangely slurred voice Kirk had never heard before.

Hot hands touched his thighs, parting them, and Kirk began to struggle, almost unable to believe what was about to happen. As he did so, the grip tightened to bruising force and, remembering Vulcan strength, he realized that there was a distinct possibility he would be seriously injured if he continued. In any case, with two of them holding him down, there was little effective resistance he could offer.

Spock's face appeared over his, the dark eyes glazed. "Be still, my little Terran," he murmured, leaning down until their lips almost touched. "I do not wish to hurt you."

Kirk's eyes widened, but before he could say anything, the rough tongue was back, bathing him in wet heat as it licked and probed at his anus, teasing its way inside. The whore's fingers followed, dilating the tender passageway, coaxing muscles to relax until Kirk's traitorous body began to actually yearn for a deeper, harder penetration.

Kirk was horrified at his reaction, even more so at the disappointment which filled him when the mouth and hands moved away. Sandor was leaning over Spock's groin, his mouth working as he coated the other's straining penis with saliva.

At last, the whore pulled away. Leaning back against the pillows, he settled Kirk into his arms, supporting the human against his body, his arms drawing the Terran's knees back so that his thighs were held open, vulner-able.

Spock moved into position, one hand guiding his swollen cock to the now-accessible anal opening. Kirk felt the hard, blunt pressure against his soft flesh, then the Vulcan's mouth touched his as the rigid probe entered his shrinking body.

There was pain, but not as much as he'd feared; Sandor had prepared him well. The breath caught in his throat for a moment, then the first sharpness was over, leaving only an uncomfortable sensation of fullness as the hard bulk twitched inside him. It almost seemed that the demanding mouth on his softened, as though trying to coax a response; but before he could be certain, Spock began to move, thrusting into him.

The pain came back, but at a tolerable level; somewhere deep in his mind, Kirk knew that Spock was holding back, trying to make this as easy as possible. He wondered why a drunken alien and his whore should have any consideration for a slave. Then all thought vanished as the cock inside him stroked over hidden muscles, and his body leaped in involuntary response. His writhing triggered Spock's climax and, with a groan of satisfaction, the Vulcan spilled his semen deep within the human's body. In the throes of orgasm, his arms tightened around the slender form, holding them together until the softening penis slipped wetly from its sheath of flesh.

Spock turned, drawing Kirk with him and as he moved, the human moaned in frustration, tormented by his own arousal. Instantly, Sandor lowered his head, sucking strongly, and Kirk gasped, his hips thrusting uncontrollably as he came in the heat of the Vulcan's mouth.

He sobbed with humiliation, certain that his tormentors would mock his helpless response. But instead, Spock's hand brushed the damp hair from his forehead, and warm lips touched his mouth.

"You were in sore need," Sandor told him, smiling down at him as he lifted his head away from the human's groin.

Spock nodded. "Sleep," he said quietly, lowering Kirk into his own bed.

***

It was morning when Kirk awoke. For a few moments he lay wondering why he had slept so late, then why he was in this wide, comfortable bed instead of his own cot. Suddenly memory returned, and he sat bolt upright, his heart pounding as he recalled the events of the previous evening.

"Do not be alarmed - you will not be harmed," a soft voice said from behind him.

Kirk turned, and it took him a few seconds to recognize the plainly dressed, pleasant-faced young Vulcan sitting at a breakfast table by the window as the jewelled, painted whore of the previous night.

"Spock had to leave," Sandor continued. "But he will return soon and he wishes to speak with you. He has asked me to remain until then, and to care for you." He rose and advanced toward the bed. "How do you feel?"

Instinctively, Kirk shrank back, and the Vulcan nodded. "To be expected," he commented. "However, I must examine you. I do not think you have been torn, but if you have been, it must be treated - an infection would be dangerous, humiliating and painful. Besides, I think it will rest better with your dignity to face Spock when you have bathed and dressed, no?"

Kirk was forced to admit the sense of the argument, and allowed Sandor to examine him. It was embarrassing because of the reason for it, but the examination itself was thorough, gentle and impersonal. At last, the Vulcan allowed him to sit up.

"There is no sign of bleeding," Sandor said, handing Kirk a tube of cream. "Go and bathe, and use this, merely as a precaution. How do you feel?" he asked again as Kirk climbed unsteadily to his feet.

"A bit stiff, and a little sore, but it's not too bad," Kirk answered honestly.

"Good. I'll find some clothes for you."

A warm bath soaked most of the stiffness from Kirk's muscles, and by the time he had used the cream and returned to the bedroom, Sandor had stripped and remade the bed and laid out clean clothes for him.

Kirk could not hide his surprise at the Vulcan's actions, and a slight smile curved Sandor's beautiful mouth.

"This is not normally part of my service, you understand," he said.

Kirk nodded. "I wouldn't expect it from one of Vulcan's most expensive Pleasure Givers," he said drily as he donned the garments prepared for him. 

The smile broadened to a grin. "A sense of humor," Sandor observed. "Well done, little human. We may well yet salvage something from this." 

Unexpectedly, Kirk found himself smiling in response for a moment before he remembered what the Vulcans had done to him, but he complied willingly enough when Sandor pushed him toward the table and urged him to eat, joining him over a meal of fruit and bread.

The two young men had finished and were beginning to eye one another tentatively when the door opened and Spock came in.

"My apologies. I was detained longer than expected." The dark eyes sought Kirk. "James, are you all right?"

"I'm not hurt," Kirk said gruffly. But as he saw the expression of concern in the other's eyes, he found the courage to add, "Why did you do that, Spock? I thought...." Despite his best efforts, his voice shook. "I thought we were... friends. It's not even as if you find me attractive." 

"That boor St'rev is partially to blame," Spock answered. "I wondered, last night, why he kept talking about you, joking and speculating. I did not realize he had drugged our wine."

"You must not blame Spock," Sandor urged. "Even I did not detect the kassa until it was much too late. Under its influence we acted on the suggestions that had been fed to us. You, unfortunately, were one of its victims."

"I must... apologize... for my actions," Spock said stiffly. "I have also dismissed St'rev from my crew. I will not have an officer who behaves so irresponsibly... and so cruelly."

"I don't understand what he thought to gain," Kirk said slowly. His anger with the two Vulcans was rapidly fading in the face of their very real concern. "Why should he be the least bit interested in what happens to an alien slave?"

Sandor shrugged ruefully. "You were but one of his victims, James. Spock has had occasion to reprimand him more than once. St'rev has never forgiven me for refusing him - several times. It would amuse him to think of us lusting after... after..."

"An ugly, feeble alien slave," Kirk finished for him. 

"You are not ugly."

Kirk looked up in surprise at the swift denial, and Spock shrugged. 

"Your appearance is a little... unusual by Vulcan standards," he said, "but you have a keen, intelligent mind, a kindly nature, and an attractive personality."

"And I have had many less pleasing bed partners," Sandor grinned. 

Despite himself, Kirk laughed. "You wouldn't be trying to boost my ego, would you7" he asked.

For a moment, Spock held his gaze as they shared a smile; then the dark eyes grew serious. "Nevertheless, I promised you my protection, and failed you. I ask forgiveness," the Vulcan said formally.

"Thank you," Kirk said with equal gravity. "Now can we forget it please? I don't want it to spoil what we're building here, Spock."

The Vulcan nodded, then moved to sit at the table. "Forgive me if I eat. I was called too early for breakfast this morning. James, my ship leaves Vulcan in three weeks. Before then, I will see you registered as a freedman, and enrolled at Starfleet Academy. Your tutors tell me you are more than ready. As we discussed, I think it best that you continue to live here - Hlas can advise you if necessary, and you will have the protection of the Household. I have also spoken to my father concerning you, and Sarek has indicated that you may appeal to him should you have any difficulty." He paused, glancing back and forth between Kirk and the Vulcan Pleasure Giver. "There is... one more thing. Sandor?"

The youth stepped forward, smiling, and handed Kirk a metal disc. "Take care of this - I don't give many out, and they are highly valued," he said. Then, seeing Kirk's look of bewilderment, his smile broadened. "Key the number engraved on the disc into the com unit and display the token," he explained. "You will be connected with my residence. If I am not immediately available, I will return your call as soon as possible. It is a service I provide only for my favored clients."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Kirk said.

Spock looked slightly embarrassed. "It is a question of... personal relationships," he said at last. "As you know, there are no females of your race on Vulcan, and I think you will not find it easy to attract a... companion. Should you wish it, Sandor has agreed to... accommodate you. I realize it is not what you would choose, but the option is there."

Kirk looked from one to the other, not knowing whether to be touched, outraged, or amused. The question was settled when Sandor winked outrageously. "I hope you will call, James," he said. "Beside some of my clients, you are positively attractive."

"Thank you - I think," Kirk said, grinning.

***

The remaining three weeks of Spock's time on Vulcan flew past in a haze of arrangements. Kirk was registered as a freedman of the Household, and was formally enrolled in Starfleet Academy. Spock arranged a personal allowance for him, but he was instructed to approach Hlas if he required anything extra. Food, clothing and living accommodations would be provided through the Household, while the Academy would supply any books or equipment, required for his courses.

Although Spock had out of necessity to spend some time on his ship, the two young men were together often, and as time grew short, they became even closer, until at last the hour came for final farewells.

"I hope to return to Vulcan before you complete your training," Spock told him as he prepared to signal for beam-up to the ship that waited in orbit. "However, that may not be possible. As my freedman, you will be assigned to the T'Keera. When you graduate, you will be transported to join her."

"Will I hear from you?" Kirk asked, wondering if a starship captain would have the time - or the inclination - to contact a casually-befriended stranger.

It almost seemed that the Vulcan read his thoughts. "You fear that I will forget you, Jim? I will not. We have become friends, you and I. Yes, I will send tapes when I can, and in return you must send to me - Hlas will arrange it." He paused, his voice softening. "Jim, the arrangement with Sandor.... Go to him if the need is there. You need not fear that he will accept you from pity. He does like you."

"I like him," Kirk agreed. "I'll think about. I'm not attracted to men as a rule, but here... well, I can see he's my only offer."

The chiming of Spock's communicator drew their attention. "It is time." For a moment, Spock held Kirk's eyes, then he reached out, gripped the human's arms, and drew him into the embrace shared by friends. "Until we meet, dwell in my thoughts, and I in yours." Then he released Kirk and keyed the open communicator. "Energize."

"Spook, take care," Kirk called. But before the echoes of his voice had died, he was alone in the room.

***

For the first few months of Spock's absence, Kirk was too busy to consciously miss the Vulcan. Gradually, however, he adjusted to the routine of the Academy, and to the demands of his studies. The work was challenging, but his agile mind and conscientious attention to his studies kept him in the top rank of students.

At first, he suffered a degree of prejudice from his fellow students, but he knew that this was due to his alien appearance. As they became accustomed to the sight of him and understood that he was as serious and dedicated to his studies as any of them, he was accepted; and soon, most of them forgot just how different he looked. 

In the Household, he rapidly became a favorite, his gentle nature and quick mind appealing to both family and servants. He eventually met Spock's father, and the remote, scholarly Sarek gradually fell into the habit of calling for his son's freedman to spend an evening in conversation, music or chess.

Tapes came from Spook, more regularly than he had dared hope, describing the progress of the T'Keera's mission. Kirk almost wore them out, studying them in detail, listening with envy to accounts of distant planets and cultures that he hoped one day to see for himself. In return, he sent his own tapes - sadly boring compared to Spock's accounts - though his friend seemed pleased to hear of his life and concerns. They discussed the duties of a commander, Spock explaining the decisions he had made, and Kirk found the information useful in his studies.

>From time to time, he spent the evening with Sandor. He waited many weeks before placing the first call, not daring to believe that someone so much in demand would really have time for him. He was not really surprised when he was connected with the answering service. What did surprise him was Sandor's appearance on the doorstep a few hours later, prepared for anything Kirk might want of him.

In fact, Kirk had not dared to think too much about sex. He desperately needed someone, and the young whore was the only offer he had; but it seemed so cold-blooded to ask.

With exquisite tact, Sandor sensed the problem and set himself to overcome it; he seduced Kirk with a delicacy and affection that reconciled the human to the strangeness of it all. Soon, it no longer seemed wrong that he should have a man in his bed.

After the first night, he called Sandor regularly, and while they did not always make love, there was no longer any awkwardness about doing so if the desire was there. So two years slipped by - two years in which Kirk became so accustomed to life on Vulcan that he almost forgot he had ever known another world.

***

Kirk had been feeling out of sorts for several days. There was nothing specific, but he had a constant headache, coupled with an unusual irritability and a feeling of compulsive restlessness. So marked was it I that he performed poorly in one of his tests at the Academy, scraping a pass where he had been expected to do well. His tutor expressed concern at his drawn appearance, and advised him to seek the counsel of a healer. Kirk agreed to do so, although he wondered how effective a Vulcan would be in treating an ailing human.

By the time he reached home, however, the only thing he wanted to do was fall into bed. He couldn't face the thought of food, and left the meal Hlas had prepared for him untouched, although he eagerly drained the pitcher of fruit juice that stood by his bed. Then, drawing the curtains against the fierce afternoon sun, he crawled into bed with a sigh of relief.

It was evening when a steady, persistent knocking at his door roused him from a restless, unrefreshing sleep filled with dreams he could not remember. Ordering the lights on, he hastily dimmed them to half as the throbbing behind his eyes intensified, then shuffled to the door.

"Sandor! Sorry, I'd forgotten you were coming this evening. Look... I don't feel very well... "

"So I see." Sandor took the human's arm and guided his friend back to the bed, hiding the dismay he felt at the high temperature and the deep, shuddering tremors that shook the body. Kirk seemed to have lost weight even in the few days since Sandor had seen him. "Can I get you anything?"

"Some water, please," Kirk asked. "I'm so thirsty..."

Sandor took the jug into the bathroom and returned, making no comment when Kirk took it and drained it at a draught.

"When did you last eat?" he asked worriedly. "And you look as though you haven't been sleeping."

"Eat?" Kirk looked vague. "I don't remember... yesterday, I think. I'm not hungry. But sleep... I don't seem to do anything else."

"And yet you do not look rested," Sandor commented, reaching out to brush sweat-damp hair back from the tanned forehead, one eyebrow rising as Kirk seemed to shrink away from his touch - although he could swear the human was not aware of having done so. "Do you have any other symptoms?" he asked softly.

"Tiredness, loss of appetite, I'm unable to concentrate... and when I am awake, I can't seem to sit still for five minutes. And... " He broke off, coloring.

"And?" Sandor prompted. "Jim, I don't want to pry, but this could be important."

Kirk shrugged. "I seem to spend a lot of time... fantasizing," he confessed.

"Fantasizing? You mean sexually?" 

Kirk nodded.

"Generally, or about someone in particular?"

"About... Spock," Kirk whispered, the truth just falling out of his mouth.

"I see. Jim, I wouldn't normally ask you this, but I must. After... that night... did you sleep with Spock again? What was your relationship with him?"

"No, that was the only time. I mean, he wouldn't want a freak like me, now would he? But we became really close after that night - good friends. He's kept in touch, you know; he sends me tapes from the T'Keera."

"Does he now... Jim, I think I know what's wrong with you, but I must be sure. Do you trust me?"

"Of course - we're friends, Sandor."

"Then will you allow me to link minds with you?"

Kirk didn't hesitate. "Of course." He closed his eyes as the long fingers touched his face. For a moment, he felt slightly dizzy, then his eyes snapped open as he felt Sandor draw away.

"What did you do? I feel a lot better."

"I am shielding for you, but this is only a temporary relief. However, I do know what the problem is, although we shall have to decide what to do about it." He paused, seemed to consider some unspoken problem, then continued. "I need to make a call, Jim. Go and bathe, and change into some clean clothes. I'll order food; when you've eaten you'll feel much better. Then we can talk."

Kirk didn't question. "Okay," he agreed, trusting the other man implicitly. He headed for the bathroom.

***

When he came back dressed in a clean fresh tunic, Sandor was sitting over the com unit at the far end of the room. Kirk couldn't hear the conversation, but was prepared to wait for his friend to explain fully. He went to sit at the table, which in his absence had been laid out with a meal. He helped himself, suddenly aware that he was ravenously hungry. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the dishes of cold meat, which he had never been able to bring himself to eat, but piled his plate high with the crisp, savory vegetables he had learned to love.

He looked up as Sandor came to join him; the young Vulcan appeared satisfied.

"I have just been in touch with the T'Keera," he announced.

Kirk's head shot up. "Did you speak to Spock? Why didn't you tell me?"

"No, not Spock - the Healer," Sandor said quietly. "Supek has confirmed my suspicions."

"Is Spock all right?" Kirk demanded, a coldness clenching his stomach. 

"I hope that he will be - now," Sandor said gravely. "Jim... were you aware that in addition to their normal sexual functioning, Vulcan males undergo what I can only describe as a periodic rut - during which they must mate? During much of our lives, this need can be met with any partner who comes to hand. However, because of our telepathic abilities, it can happen that the male becomes fixated on one partner - and only that desired mate can slake the need."

Kirk assimilated that, then nodded. "Go on," he prompted at Sandor's silence.

"Jim, Spock is in the first stages of the pon farr, and his need is for... you. The symptoms you have felt have been his, channeled to you." 

"You mean," Kirk said slowly, "that he's suffering from severe sexual frustration, and that he can't find relief with anyone but me?" It seemed unlikely for more than one reason.

Sandor held his gaze. "Yes," he said at last. "But you must - " 

"The only thing. I must do is get to him at once, Sandor!" Kirk said, no longer needing to think about his answer. "Will you help me?"

"Are you certain, Jim? Really certain? I can't make any promises, you know."

"You mean... he might not want me when this pon farr thing is over? I'd be surprised if he did," Kirk realized quietly. "But he's my friend -if he needs me, I have to go to him. Later... well... that'll take care of itself. Even if he doesn't want me afterwards, I know we'll still be close." He studied Sandor closely. "Now will you help me or not?" 

"I'll help you," Sandor promised.

***

It had long fascinated Kirk that the Pleasure Givers should be so highly regarded on Vulcan. He'd eventually plucked up the courage to ask about it, explaining that on Earth whores were generally considered to be pariahs in polite society. Sandor had laughed, and explained that unless Vulcans adopted the barbaric practice of child bonding advocated by the followers of Surak, unbonded males must be able to seek willing partners at the time of pon farr. Since the Time of Burning came regularly to every male in his reproductive years, skilled and knowledgeable whores were valued for their services. Moreover, relaxation was always of benefit, and expertise in any profession was to be admired.

Kirk had never looked at it in quite that way before, but he had to admit the logic of the situation.

Now, in this time of crisis, he experienced first hand Sandor's position as his friend took over all the arrangements. He consulted Sarek, obtaining official permission as Head of the Household for Kirk to travel to his master. One swift call to the spaceline secured them accommodations on the first available ship heading for the T'Keera's patrol sector. Messages to Healer Supek confirmed that Spock had been taken into protective seclusion on the planet Arat. Finally, it was Sandor, in consultation with Hlas, who arranged clothes for Kirk for the trip.

The delivery of those clothes produced a protest from Kirk as he held up a long, voluminous garment, a combination of a cloak and a hooded robe. Together with gloves and a close-fitting mask covering his face, not an inch of skin could be seen - even his eyes were hidden.

"We must be very careful," Sandor said. "Those are the clothes worn by a lorath - a treasured Companion - during his partner's Time. A male in pon farr can be very possessive, and can resent another looking upon his mate. I ask you to wear them because we dare not risk any delay in reaching Spock. As you know, your appearance is... Unusual on Vulcan; should anyone question your right to go to Spock, the delay could have serious consequences."

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked, dropping the robe as hereacted to the gravity of Sandor's tone.

"Let me ask you, Jim, why you are doing this? Why are you going to Spock? Is it only out of pity?"

"Pity doesn't come into it," Kirk said sharply. "My friend needs me -and that'd be enough on its own, but... He looked after me, gave me a chance. I can't think what my life on Vulcan would have been without him. I know when this is over he'll want to find someone... someone more suitable. But right now, this is something I can do for him." He paused, a faint smile coming to his mouth. "I love him, Sandor," he said simply.

The Vulcan seemed to relax somewhat. "That is what I needed to know -and what he will need to know when you go to him. When he links minds with you, he must see for himself that you are there of your own wish. If he thought you had been coerced, or that you were only there out of pity, he would refuse you, Jim - and he would die."

"Die? I don't understand."

"An unconsummated pon farr is fatal, my friend, and as I told you, if the male is fixated on one mate, no other consummation is possible. I had to be sure - you had to be sure - that this was a free choice."

"It is," Kirk said quietly. "Whatever happens later, I have to know that he'll be all right. He's all that matters."

***

The journey to Arat was swift and uneventful; within minutes of their transport entering orbit, Kirk and Sandor were beamed down to the House of Seclusion, where Supek - the T'Keera's healer - awaited them.

"You are most welcome," he greeted them, carefully avoiding looking too long at Kirk's shrouded form. "The captain still retains a degree of control, but there is no time to waste. If the lorath is ready...?"

Kirk nodded, and Sandor led him toward the door to the inner rooms. "Remember all I told you," he whispered. "All will be well, Jim."

The door opened and Kirk stepped through, hearing it close and lock behind him. There was no way back.

There was a rustle of movement, and Spock was standing before him, the thin face drawn and haggard. The dark eyes glittered feverishly, despair and hope mingling in their depths as they roamed the shrouded figure. Aware of Spock's need, Kirk pulled off the robe and stood clad only in a thin tunic. Despite all he had been told of Spock's need for him, he waited, trembling, to see the expression in the dark eyes turn to revulsion at the sight of his alien flesh. Instead, Spock's lips curved into a smile of relief, and a shaking hand rose to touch his cheek.

"Jim, I sensed your approach, and still I could not believe that you would come to me after my treatment of you." His voice was deep, hoarse, needful. "You are sure?"

"I'm here because I want to be here," Kirk said softly. He stepped forward into the arms that rose to encircle his body with a fierce hunger. "I love you, Spock," he offered. "But... we can talk later. For now, take what you need... knowing that I offer it willingly."

***

He was drawn to the bed and eased down onto the cool sheets, his tunic falling away as eager hands fumbled with the clasp. Spock's raw need was bleeding into his mind, setting his own flesh on fire, yet even in that maelstrom of emotion, the Vulcan found from somewhere the strength to draw back.

"You are not ready... Jim, don't let me hurt you." "It's all right - Sandor... prepared me." Kirk deliberately fed the images to Spock, the sensations he had endured as, in their cabin, Sandor had carefully lubricated him, dilating his anus until the muscles were relaxed and yielding. The slickness of the cream was warm and slippery inside him, and he guided Spock's hand between his thighs, allowing him to feel for himself how easy entry would be.

Even with that reassurance, Spock's penetration of the human's body was slow; careful. Fully inserted, he paused to allow his companion to become accustomed to the sensation, using the time to deepen the link between them.

But the link was two-edged, and nothing could be hidden as all barriers, all pretense, dissolved in the fires of pon farr. Spock saw how the human had come to care for him, how the shock of the rape made him realize that his friendship for the Vulcan had taken on a sexual dimension. He saw, too, Kirk's conviction that once this need was past, Spock would seek a more conventional partner. And that, too, the human would accept, asking only for a place in Spock's life.

In return, Kirk was shown a reality he could never have imagined. In the rising heat of pon farr, Spock had yearned for the cool human flesh he had tasted only once, had longed for the companion he had learned to cherish during their months together on Vulcan. He had fought to deny the attrac-tion because he knew how totally dependent Kirk was on his protection; he could not have borne it if the human had come to him only out of a sense of obligation.

Both men were startled, then reassured, as the images flew from mind to mind, correcting misapprehension and healing the scars of their first encounter. Spock threw back his head, howling in triumph as his hands closed possessively on the body of his life's mate; and Kirk's wild laughter rang out as he plunged headlong into the flames, his body surging as he writhed and bucked in frenzied response to a need that was now his own. The fires of pon farr, it seemed, could scorch human flesh, too...

Hour later, they lay clinging together, temporarily drained but not yet sated, enjoying the awareness of utter belonging.

"You do not fear now, that I will seek another?" Spock asked as he bent to lick the deliciously salty moisture from his partner's cool skin. 

"No, but... Spock, are you sure it's wise for you to claim me as bondmate? I don't want to... to embarrass you, and when people see me... Wouldn't it be better for you to keep me simply as lorath? That'd give you an excuse to keep me in seclusion."

"Jim," Spock murmured, "I want you at my side in all of my life, not just in my bed. I want to give you the stars, not the walls of a harem, however comfortable. I can accept the comments, t'hy'la, and I can defend you if I must; but I will not confine you, make you less than you are." 

"Still..." Kirk bit his lip thoughtfully. He knew that Spock had learned to see beauty in his alien appearance,, yet others would not. It seemed a shame that his lover would be forced to hear so much derision at his choice of mate.

But, suddenly, he laughed aloud as an old tale he had once heard drifted into his mind in his lethargy. It would work, he was sure of it... Reaching up, he slid an arm around Spock's neck, drawing his mate into a kiss. "This is what we're going to do, Spock," he murmured huskily.

***

Sondir cast a hasty glance toward the high table as he slipped into his seat, breathing a sigh of relief that the legendary Captain Spock had not yet made his appearance. As the newest ensign on the T'Keera, he was desperately anxious to make a good impression, and it would not do to be late on this, the formal first meal as the ship set out on yet another voyage of discovery. He knew he was fortunate to have been selected - the cream of Academy graduates competed eagerly for a place in this vessel's crew.

"Just in time," his neighbor, Stretin, the junior navigator whispered. "Here come the officers now."

The crew rose respectfully as Captain Spock led his command crew to their places at the high table. Sondir studied each face eagerly, recogniz-ing each from the T'Keera's logs, required study at the Academy. Supek, the elderly Healer; S'Rani, Helmsman; Soren, of Communications; T'Pella, Science Officer - each a legend on Vulcan.

And there, at Spock's side, his bondmate, S'Kirk, First Officer of the T'Keera. Sondir could not help but stare - no matter how many pictures he had studied, nothing had prepared him for the reality of that face. As the officers took their seats and the crew followed suit, Sondir took advantage of the noise to whisper to his neighbor: "Stretin, is it true what is said of S'Kirk? I have heard the tales, but as a member of the T'Keera's crew, you must know if it's true or not."

Stretin nodded with the self-importance of an insider imparting knowledge as a favor. "Yes, it is true. Supek has served on the T'Keera since S'Kirk first joined the crew, and he swears that from his first day on duty he looked as he does now."

Sondir allowed himself another glance. The First Officer's face was truly a work of art. Fashioned by the most skilled craftsmen on Vulcan, a silver mask was wrought into the formal, delicate lines of a stylized Vulcan face, the soaring brows and pointed ears blending harmoniously with the carefully worked bone structure. Even the hair was a triumph, each separate strand seeming as fine silk as it fell around the finely shaped head. "it is almost like some tale from the days of Legend," Sondir murmured, failing as so many did under the spell of that mysterious face.

"Indeed." The note of awe in Stretin's voice betrayed that not even familiarity could dim the magic. "S'Kirk's beauty is so remarkable that to see him is to fall under his spell. To spare Spock the distress of knowing that all who saw his mate desired him, S'Kirk vowed to go masked until the day of his death..." He seemed to sigh fondly.. "Such loyalty! Spock is greatly envied."

***

>From his place at the high table, Spock had seen the two crewmen in conversation, and from the direction of the ensign's glances, he could discern the subject of their conversation.

 _Your legend lives on,_ he commented to his mate, _and again I am envied for being mated to Vulcan's most famous beauty._

_A beauty who dare not show his face,_ Kirk thought drily. _You know what we say on Earth - beauty's only skin deep. In my case, mask deep._

_I prefer another of your Terran sayings - that beauty is in the eye o4 the beholder,_ Spock returned. _Tonight, in our bed, I will show you yet again just how beautiful I think you are my t'hy'la..._


End file.
